


Unexpected Impregnation

by artemisgirl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: But getting pregnant magically against your will, F/M, No rape or non-con sexual contact, so kind of non-con?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:14:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22374724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artemisgirl/pseuds/artemisgirl
Summary: On Tuesday, Hermione awoke to discover, in a rather nonplussed fashion, that she was pregnant.Originally written for the Granger Enchanted Cliché Challenge
Relationships: Anthony Goldstein/Hermione Granger
Comments: 15
Kudos: 118





	Unexpected Impregnation

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written YEARS AND YEARS ago for the Granger Enchanted Cliché Challenge. My cliché was "romance through an unintended pregnancy", I believe. 
> 
> As implied by the challenge, this fic does *not* follow the usual form this sort of fic takes.

On Tuesday, Hermione awoke to discover, in a rather nonplussed fashion, that she was pregnant.

She hadn't been pregnant when she went to sleep the night before, so at some point between passing out on her bed from work-related exhaustion and waking up insanely early to go work even more, she had conceived.

Hermione made a face at the alert ward that had greeted her upon waking. The alert ward was blinking blue, telling her that if she carried the pregnancy to term, she would bear a boy.

Yawning and stretching, Hermione went to the bathroom to get ready for the day. The ward hung in the air, a blue male symbol of light above her bed, though it flickered a few times.

By the time she'd eaten breakfast and left for work, the ward had sputtered and gone out, and Hermione wasn't pregnant anymore.

~

Two days later, Hermione awoke to discover that she was pregnant again. A girl, this time, if her ward were to be believed.

Rather annoyed at the occurrence, Hermione did a couple jumping jacks to help herself wake up, went to the bathroom, and relieved herself.

The glowing pink ward started fading, and it disappeared sometime while Hermione was brushing her teeth.

~

The next morning, she awoke pregnant again, and Hermione nearly growled at the glowing ward above her.

Marching directly to her lab while still in her dressing gown, Hermione snatched a sterile glass phial and aimed her wand at it. She muttered a spell, drawing a star over her stomach before aiming her wand at the phial. A slow, pulsing lime green smoke began to fill the phial, like a cartoon-colored fog, and Hermione replaced the phial.

Making a mental note to come back and check on the phial after work, Hermione changed and left.

~

“Hermione! How are you?”

Hermione attempted a smile at Ron, who slung his arm around her shoulders in an overly friendly manner.

“I'm fine, Ron. How are you?”

“I'm good. Great, even,” Ron said, grinning at her. “Great party, isn't it?”

Hermione shrugged and glanced around. The Hog's Head was filled with old classmates and Ministry coworkers, all drinking and dancing around drunkenly. The official occasion for the carousing was Albus Dumbledore's birthday, and Harry had told her that having masses of people drinking at Aberforth's bar had become an annual event.

The Hog's Head wasn't really big enough to accommodate this sort of crowd, but no one seemed to care.

With a sigh, Hermione took another sip of her drink, her eyes scanning the crowd. Ron was next to her still, chatting with amicably about something or other, though Hermione wasn't listening. Cormac McLaggen was lurking by the bar, surreptitiously eying her up. Draco Malfoy was loudly talking about the renovation he was doing to the Manor at one of the center tables, and Blaise Zabini was chatting up Luna Lovegood over by the loos. Harry was arm in arm with Ginny, looking thoroughly besotted with her, and Hermione put a mental 'X' next to Harry's name in her mind.

Ron was looking at her expectantly, Hermione realized, and she nodded, wondering what he'd said. Ron beamed and grabbed her elbow, leading her across the bar. He plucked her cup from her hands and set it on a nearby table before pulling her onto the dance floor and grabbing at her hips clumsily.

Apparently, she'd agreed to dance. With a mental sigh, she lifted Ron's hands from her arse up to her waist and began to sway in place.

As soon as the dance was done, Hermione returned to the nearby table where Ron had set her drink. She stopped and looked at her cup. It was still half-full of butterbeer, and it appeared to be untouched.

A glowing green rune, Elhaz reversed, pulsed slightly in midair above her cup.

 _Hidden danger,_ Hermione thought dully. _About time._

Without hesitation, she downed the rest of her drink.

~

When she awoke the next morning, she awoke naked, alone, in a room at the Three Broomsticks, and pregnant.

Hermione sat up carefully, taking full stock of herself. Her head was fuzzy, which she'd expected, but her breath smelled of sulfur and she felt horribly queasy, which she hadn't anticipated.

 _A bad brewer of Compliance Potion,_ Hermione noted, dashing to the loo to throw up. _Not Malfoy, then – he got an O in Potions._

After her stomach had settled, Hermione began examining herself more carefully, tracing runes in the air to manually check her wards.

She was pregnant, again (a boy). Ehwaz glowed red, indicating a betrayal had occurred, but Othala glowed a steady green.

She'd been stripped of her clothes, but she hadn't been penetrated.

_Interesting._

With a wand wave and a mutter, the blue Mars sigil dissipated from over her bed, and back in her lab at home, another phial began to glow green.

~

“Hey, Hermione! How're you feeling?”

Hermione turned sharply toward Harry, who was jogging to catch up with her quick pace across the Ministry floor.

_An idle question, or genuine inquiry? Is Ginny infertile? Or-_

“I'm fine,” Hermione said. She raised an eyebrow. “I didn't have as much to drink at the party as _some_ people did.”

Harry blushed and ran a hand through his hair ruefully.

 _Slight guilt_ , Hermione noted. _Good; I'd hate to lose a friend like Harry._

“Ginny wasn't pleased with me,” Harry admitted. “I got into a drinking contest with McLaggen at one point – she thought it was juvenile. I'm regretting it now, myself.”

 _McLaggen might have wanted Harry distracted_. Hermione stored the thought away in the back of her mind as they reached the elevators. Harry got in with her, and they held on as the elevator began to move.

“How're things with you and Ginny?” she asked instead. “Wedding still on? Planning any kids soon?”

Harry laughed.

“Ginny wouldn't dump me just for drinking so much,” he said. “And we'll have kids soon enough, I suppose, but not too fast. I'd like to have a year or two of just the two of us before we start a family, unless we don't have a choice.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

“Not have a choice?” she asked. “You mean like Ginny getting pregnant accidentally?”

“Oh, there's no danger of that, we both know the charm, and Ginny takes the potion for backup,” Harry said quickly. “But, you know, that thing the Wizengamot's been talking about...”

He shifted uneasily, and Hermione's eyes sharpened.

“Harry Potter,” she said, her gaze holding his steadily. “What, exactly, are you talking about?”

“Oh, nothing,” Harry laughed hollowly. “Just something we heard in the Auror department. Just a rumor going around, really. Nothing to worry about. Surprised you haven't heard it, though.”

“Right, because people are likely to come down to the Department of Mysteries to gossip, Harry,” Hermione said, giving him an amused look. “I'm sure.”

Harry grinned, before lurching forward to hit the door with his face as the elevator abruptly stopped.

“This is me,” he said thickly, holding his nose. “See you around, 'Mione.”

Hermione nodded and waved goodbye as the elevator moved away. She watched Harry stumble off toward the loos, leaving a small trail of dripped blood in his wake, until he was out of sight.

The elevator plunged sharply, darted left, and spun around twice before finally coming to a halt.

“Department of Mysteries,” the elevator chimed pleasantly.

Hermione disembarked, absent-mindedly undoing the DNA-coded wards as she walked into work, her mind whirring.

“Anthony,” Hermione said, as she strode into the office and dumped her coat on her desk. “Why would someone want to get me pregnant?”

Anthony Goldstein, her coworker and fellow Unspeakable, turned to stare at her for along moment.

“ _What?_ ”

Hermione enjoyed his stare, because it gave her a chance to stare back. Anthony's hair was disheveled, he had an inkstain on the ear he'd tucked his quill behind, and his robes were too big and stained with all sorts of experimental ingredients. His eyes were bright and friendly, though, and Hermione smiled.

He was cute. She liked to look at him. She enjoyed sneaking glances whenever possible.

“Why would someone want to get me pregnant?” she repeated, tilting her head. “You must have some idea.”

Anthony grinned.

“You mean, besides the obvious?”

“They're not doing it through sex,” Hermione said, settling down in her chair, “though someone went to an awful lot of trouble to make me think I'd had a one-night stand. Whatever their goal is here, it's a pregnancy, not sleeping with me.”

Anthony shrugged.

“He could be doing it to get to sleep with you in the future,” he said. “Pregnancy supposedly causes a woman's hormones to go crazy. Maybe he figured you'd go wild with testosterone and jump him.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, and Anthony smiled, before his expression sobered.

“You've already gotten pregnant?” he asked, his smile gone. “When? How?”

“Once on Tuesday, once on Thursday, once on Friday, and twice on Saturday,” Hermione said, ticking them off on her fingers. “They're using the _Infans Initium_ spell, not the _Infans Ingenero_.”

Anthony stared.

“Are you sure? That's very Dark Magic,” he said. “How can you tell?”

“I'm not ovulating,” Hermione said simply. “ _Infans Ingenero_ wouldn't work.”

“Those kind of cycles are dodgy, though, and they can change all the time” Anthony said, glancing over at her. “Are you sure?”

Hermione gave him a look, and Anthony coughed, turning away quickly.

“I'm sure you're right, though,” he said quickly. “I mean, unless you're taking fertility potions, there's no way you'd have ovulated five times in the space of a week.”

“Exactly.”

There was a silence.

“So. Quintuplets?”

Hermione snorted.

“I said I'd gotten pregnant,” she said. “I didn't say I still was.”

Anthony turned to give her a measured look.

“Good for you,” he said finally. “I respect that. Lots of witches refuse to do anything about unintended pregnancies.”

“I didn't have to _do_ anything,” Hermione corrected. “I wasn't ovulating. My womb wasn't prepared for a zygote, there was no lining for implantation, and they all disintegrated.”

“I thought _Infans Initium_ was supposed to take care of that?”

“My uterus is a toxic environment for living creatures,” she quipped, and Anthony smirked.

They both turned back to their work.

The scratching of quills filled the silence.

“Though, what doesn't make sense,” Hermione said several minutes later, as if there had been no break in the conversation, “is the fact that it's happened five times.”

“You don't think your mystery Dark Wizard wants five kids?” Anthony asked with a straight face. Hermione laughed and tossed her hair.

“But really. Think about it,” she said. “Whoever's doing this clearly doesn't know that his spell's not working, or else he'd have tried something else by now. But it'd been done five times – and the spell's supposed to result in one child per casting.”

“Maybe they're an idiot who thought they had to cast it repeatedly until your expected onset of menses,” Anthony suggested. “Oh, or maybe it was five different people! That would make sense, right?”

Hermione stared.

“Five different people?” she said blankly. “ _Five?”_

“Sure,” Anthony said, shrugging. “It'd make sense, right? Each caster wouldn't know you were already supposed to be pregnant.”

“I hardly think five different people want a child with me,” Hermione said, giving him an odd look.

“Why not?” Anthony looked uncomfortable. “You're smart, you're attractive, and you've got a wicked sense of humor. You've clearly got good genes – I bet lots of people would want a child with you.”

Hermione stared at him, her cheeks slowly warming up. Anthony was looking at his desk determinedly, not meeting her gaze, but she could see that his face was red, too.

“Thanks,” Hermione said finally. “I hope that's not the case, though – five culprits will be five times as hard to track down.”

“If you need a hand cracking some skulls, just let me know.”

Hermione laughed, and Anthony grinned.

“Thanks for the offer,” she said, smiling, “but for now, just let me know if you hear anything strange about people being mandated to have children.”

“Will do.”

~c~

Hermione woke up pregnant again. She swore colorfully, jabbing her wand about in the required movements and saying the needed spell. The Pregnancy Detection Ward dimmed and vanished. Downstairs, another vial began to glow green.

After she'd gotten dressed, Hermione stared at the glowing green vials on her desk, thinking.

 _I'm going to need more vials if this keeps up_ , she realized. _At least they're cheap..._

Aggravated, Hermione mentally cursed the nature of the Dark Arts. The spell her impregnators kept using worked using her DNA. An assaulter only needed a strand of her hair to do the spell, and the caster could be miles and miles away.

Hermione darkly wished that the prospective fathers would try venturing into her home to cast the spell. The personal wards around her apartment were rather bloodthirsty – she'd love to see how fertile her tormentors would be when they'd finished with them.

~

“Hermione! Did you hear?!”

Hermione turned to see Ginny running towards her in the Ministry Atrium, looking ecstatic.

“Hear what?”

“About the pregnancy!”

Hermione felt a brief moment of panic that someone had found out, before she realized that if Ginny had been talking about _her_ pregnancies, she wouldn't have asked if she'd known.

“No. Whose?” Hermione asked, forcibly calming herself down.

“Fleur! She and Bill are finally going to have a baby!”

“That's wonderful,” Hermione said, giving her a genuine smile. “I know they were worried it would be impossible.”

“It nearly was,” Ginny said, shaking her head mournfully. “They tried almost everything. Bill finally found some tips in the back of a magazine that helped them out – weird stuff, like wearing boxers instead of briefs and tracking Fleur's body temperature. There were a few spells as well, to increase fertility, I think he said. Whatever it was, something worked!”

Hermione shook her head ruefully. “Muggles have been doing that kind of thing for ages,” she said, smiling. “I'm glad that something finally worked.”

“Me too! And I'm going to be an aunt!” Ginny grinned. She gave Hermione an evaluating look. “You know, Hermione, you should think about settling down and having kids, too.”

Hermione groaned.

“Ginny, not this again-”

“Just think about it!” Ginny insisted. “You know you're lonely, and you'd love a boyfriend-”

“I'm far too busy to deal with the stress of a relationship-”

“-and you know you'd love a baby to shower with love.” Ginny looked up at her, hopefully. “Maybe you and Ron could try dating again? He's been talking about settling down and starting a family, you know. I think he wants you back.”

“Hermione! There you are!”

Hermione turned quickly to see Anthony striding towards her importantly, looking angry.

“What are you doing, chatting up here like you have nothing to do?” he demanded. “We need to work on the _V_ _aframentum_ project immediately!”

Hermione stared at him, mentally translating his words, before a slow smile spread across her face.

“Of course!” she said, slapping her head. “I can't believe I forgot! Excuse me, Ginny. Send Fleur my congratulations!”

“But Hermione-!”

Anthony had grabbed her elbow and was leading her off, walking quickly. Hermione hurried to keep up with him.

“Is she gone?” Anthony said lowly, keeping his eyes straight ahead.

“It looks like she's leaving,” Hermione responded, glancing back. She turned to Anthony and offered him a smile. “Thanks for that.”

Anthony chuckled. “You looked miserable,” he said. “I figured you were in need of rescuing.”

Hermione laughed.

“Out of curiousity, what would you have done if I hadn't figured it out?” she aked. “What if I hadn't known what 'ruse' was in Latin?”

“Wasn't a possibility,” Anthony said with certainty. “You know everything.”

Hermione laughter echoed in the hallway behind them as they went down the stairs.

~

“Anthony, do you have a moment?”

Anthony shook his head, clearing his head of the nonsensical equations he was working on, and looked up to see Hermione, and he smiled at her.

“Sure,” he said, setting his papers aside. “What do you need?”

“I've finally finished the Memory Tampering Detection ward,” Hermione said brightly. “I need you to be Monitor.”

“Already?” Anthony asked, astonished. “You were only assigned that two days ago!”

Hermione shifted uncomfortably.

“Well,” she said, hesitating. “I suppose I had some outside motivational influence.”

She bit her lip and looked down, and Anthony nearly hit himself for his stupidity. She was still getting mysteriously pregnant; of course she wanted to know if someone had tampered with her memory.

“Whatever the reason, that's an impressive piece of work, Hermione,” he said, standing. “Robards thought it'd take you a fortnight to work out.”

Hermione beamed.

“It's not impressive until we make sure it works,” she added.

“Then, by all means.” Anthony gestured. “After you.”

Anthony enjoyed watching her as he followed her through the hallways to the Testing Room. Anthony enjoyed looking at Hermione in general – she was very attractive, after all, and Anthony was eternally grateful that he hadn't been assigned to work with Croaker or Nummins, who were both male, old, and rather grotesque.

They arrived at the Testing Room, a large, circular room with cushioning covering the floor and the walls. Parts of a cauldron were decaying in the center, and with a disgusted noise, Hermione Banished them away.

“Croaker never cleans up after himself,” she said, annoyed. “One day, he'll leave something volatile out and it'll react unexpectedly, and then the whole Ministry will be gone.”

Anthony stifled a smile. Hermione criticized Croaker whenever she had the chance.

“Okay,” Hermione said, moving to stand in the center of the room. “I've already checked my personal wards, and nothing will interfere, so here we go.”

She moved her wand in a complicated pattern and muttered something under her breath. There was a faint blue glow that pulsed around her before dissipating, and Hermione smiled.

“So far, so good,” she said, pleased. “Now you just need to do something and then Obliviate me, and we'll see if the ward picks it up.”

“Do something?” Anthony questioned. “Like what?”

“Anything, really,” Hermione said, waving a hand airily. “Tell me a secret, do a cartwheel – it just needs to be a definitive event for you to make me forget.”

“A secret?” Anthony said, teasing. “Why would I tell you one of those?”

“Well, I'll forget it in a moment, won't I?” Hermione said, smiling. “So it wouldn't matter, really.”

Anthony blinked.

“You won't remember afterward?”

“This ward only detects if my memory has been tampered with,” she said. “It won't allow me to detect or replace what memories have been removed. I'll work on that next, if this test is successful.”

She stood there looking at him, waiting expectantly, but Anthony just looked at her intently, thoughts buzzing through his head.

 _I'll never get the courage up to do it otherwise,_ he thought. _I may never have this chance again._

Hermione blinked.

“Anthony,” she said. “What's wro-”

Anthony moved forward suddenly, sealing his lips over hers and cutting off her words. He held her face gingerly as he kissed her, pouring all his pent-up longing into the kiss. Before she could respond, he stepped back, ignoring the warm feeling rising in his chest and determinedly not looking at her face.

_“Obliviate.”_

There was a flash of light, and Anthony kept his face carefully blank as Hermione's eyes swam and refocused.

“Anthony,” she said in surprise, before her eyes widened. “Right! I was testing the memory ward, so-”

Her wand danced in front of her rapidly, and when she stopped, Hermione clapped her hands in glee.

“It worked!” she said happily. “It shows that someone modified my memory, and it even has your magical signature recorded as well!”

“Congratulations,” Anthony said, grinning. “This is a big accomplishment, Hermione.”

Hermione turned to him, beaming from ear to ear.

“Thank you so much for helping me test it, Anthony! I really appreciate it.” 

Anthony smiled.

“Believe me; It was my pleasure.”

~

“Anthony, will you help me test my Memory Retrieval Ward?”

“Of course.”

He followed her to the Testing Room, and Hermione took up her place in the center.

“Let me just check to make sure nothing will interfere,” she said, “and then we'll do the test.”

Her wand flew in complicated patterns in the air before her, and Anthony watched, interested. Hermione work in self-based wards was groundbreaking and very ambitious. Wards customarily only guarded stationary, inanimate objects. Her experimental modification of wards challenged their very nature, but her efforts had been met with magnificent success so far.

Hermione was frowning now at the air, and when she met his gaze, Anthony gave her a quizzical look. She sighed.

“You can't see anything, can you?” she asked. “Wait a moment.”

She cast another spell, muttering under her breath, and suddenly, little glowing runes and symbols appeared around her, floating in the air.

Anthony let out a low whistle of appreciation. Her wards all seemed green, he noted, casting his eyes about her. Green seemed seemed positive, so that was good. His eyes stopped on her middle, and he looked up at her, hesitating.

Hermione looked resigned.

“I see you've noticed I'm pregnant again,” Hermione said, gesturing to the odd symbol resting in front of her stomach. “Usually, it's the sigil for mars or venus, to indicate a boy or girl. This one, apparently, would have Turner's syndrome, so the customary assignation protocol didn't quite work.”

Anthony stared at her blankly. He wasn't quite sure what Turner's syndrome was.

“And whoever did it did a _sticking charm_ to make sure it stayed,” Hermione said. “Clearly, I'm dealing with an idiot, because a stuck zygote wouldn't be able to develop properly.”

She sighed, traced a circle around her middle with her wand, and murmured a spell. The unrecognizable symbol that had been floating in front of her stomach faded away.

She made a quiet sound, her eyes heavy, and Anthony looked at her, concerned.

“Are you... okay?” he asked.

Hermione looked up at him, her eyes clouded.

“They've all just disintegrated on their own, until now,” she admitted quietly, “save the ones I put in stasis, of course. But – it feels weird, knowing that I-”

He was surprised. He knew Hermione prided herself on being a modern witch, and that she didn't have any problem with the termination of unintended pregnancies. She was a strong advocate for witches' rights in that regard.

Talking about it in the abstract was probably very different than actually doing it yourself, though. Anthony looked at her, his heart twisting at her pain. Before he could stop himself, he stepped forward and hugged her.

Hermione stiffened slightly, before relaxing into his embrace.

“All you did was protect yourself,” Anthony said, holding her close. “A zygote with a sticking charm would have endangered your life, and it would have disintegrated otherwise.”

“I know,” Hermione murmured. “But still...”

“It's okay,” Anthony whispered into her hair. “It's okay.”

Anthony stood there a long moment, his arms around her, before Hermione sighed and backed up. Her eyes were pained and looked shiny with unshed tears, and Anthony felt his heart go out to her.

“Thanks,” she said finally. “Thanks... I...” She sighed. “Let's just get on with this, shall we?”

Hermione moved mechanically back to the center of the room. Her wand traced out a new pattern, and there was a blue glow of light.

She looked up at him, her eyes determined.

“Okay, I'm ready. You can do something now, and then Obliviate me, and I'll try to retrieve it.”

Anthony paused, considering, before moving forward to whisper into her ear.

“Croaker and Nubbins are sleeping together,” he said quietly, before backing up and casting the Memory Charm _._

Her eyes swam, and before they could settle, Anthony focused on the past few minutes and raised his wand to cast again.

“ _Obliviate._ ”

When her eyes finally refocused, Anthony was waiting expectantly. Hermione looked confused for a moment, before light danced in her eyes.

“We're in the Testing Room again, aren't we?” she asked, excited. “So we must be testing the Memory Retrieval Ward-”

Hermione quickly checked her wards, and Anthony smiled softly to himself. She was so happy again, and excited, having forgotten what she had done. 

“It worked!” she crowed happily. “I can see that you modified my memory at 11:07 this morning!” She beamed at him. “- _And_ there's a memory trapped in the netting of the ward, like for a pensieve! So it worked!” She paused. “Wait... you modified my memory _again?_ But why?”

“Go ahead and retrieve the first one,” Anthony said. He looked at her quietly, her eyes large and curious, boring into him.

“The second one erased a memory you would rather forget,” he said quietly, watching her reaction. “If you trust me, leave that one be.”

She stared at him, uncertain, and without waiting for a response, Anthony left the room.

Later, when he was at his desk, Hermione breezed by and ruffled his hair.

“I can't believe Croaker and Nubbins are having an affair!” she said, laughing. “But it makes so much sense! No wonder they haven't been taking the proper precautions for testing their lust potions!”

She looked amazing when she laughed, and Anthony grinned back at her, his stomach doing flip-flops as he did.

When she finally settled down, she smiled at him softly, and Anthony's breath caught in his throat.

“Thanks.” 

Her eyes held his for a long moment, full of meaning, before she broke the gaze and smiled happily.

“I'm going out to lunch to celebrate,” she said. She grinned at him. “Want to come along?”

Anthony laughed and grabbed his cloak to join her, and Hermione chatted amicably with him on the way up the elevator.

She was radiant in her happiness, and Anthony quietly reflected on the events of the morning as she explained the implications of her new ward.

She trusted him; implicitly, it seemed. He watched as she happily babbled on, all memory of her stuck conception clearly gone.

It was odd, he though, and oddly warming, to have such a clear display of her unquestioning trust.

~c~

“Granger.”

Hermione glanced over to see Draco Malfoy sitting next to her at the bar. She regarded him carefully.

“Draco,” she said cautiously. “How can I help you?”

“You can't,” he said. “But I'm here to help you. Don't drink that.”

Hermione glanced at her glass.

“The Butterbeer? I just got it.”

“Someone on the other side of the bar paid the bartender to slip something in it,” Malfoy told her darkly. “Just – watch yourself, okay?”

Malfoy paid his tab and left, and Hermione watched him go with curiosity.

“That was fairly decent of him,” she told her glass, a green warning ward floating up from the amber liquid. “I wonder what prompted that?”

She drank the drink down anyway and wondered who would come and chat her up tonight.

~

“Good morning, Anthony.”

“Good morning, Hermione.” He smiled at her, and Hermione felt her heart flutter as she tossed her coat to her desk. His smile turned teasing. “Any more babies today?”

Hermione scowled. “Two.”

Anthony laughed and she glared at him. He stopped quickly. 

“I may have found something out about that,” he said, offering her an uncertain smile. “I was eavesdropping, and I overheard something the Minister said.”

Instantly, Hermione's mood went from annoyed to anticipatory.

“You did? What?”

“He mentioned to Dawlish that because of the declining birth rate, the Ministry might need to act.” He paused. “It seemed like he wanted the Wizengamot would pass a new law that would tax witches and wizards that didn't have any kids. People who had kids would get an exemption, and couples who produced significantly powerful children, as measured by the Ministry, would get a tax rebate.”

Hermione stared.

“They want to mandate fertility?” Hermione said, stunned. “Are you serious?”

“Quite serious,” Anthony said. “As I heard it, the Minister's been pushing his Department to write up and propose this new law for a little over a month. It's almost ready to go before the Wizengamot.”

“It'll never pass,” Hermione said forcefully. “It would never. The Wizengamot may be worried, but Amelia Bones is Chief Warlock. She'd never let something so draconian get through.”

Anthony shrugged, ambivalent.

“It'd definitely explain why you're getting unexpectedly pregnant,” he offered. “If wizards figure they'll be getting significant tax rebates for having powerful children, of course they'll go to you. Everyone knows you're the most powerful witch Britain's seen in years.”

Hermione flushed.

“Thanks, Anthony,” she said. She sat down in her chair heavily. “I appreciate the heads-up.”

~

Hermione had gone out every weekend since she began conceiving, despite the fact that she generally loathed doing so.

Hermione did this very deliberately. Whoever was impregnating her probably did not want her to know he had done so through Dark Magic. As such, he probably planned to seduce her (by whatever means necessary) and pretend that the conception had occurred the typical way.

If the wizard didn't have the opportunity to “seduce” her, he was liable to do something dangerous, like abduct her and rape her, or use the _Imperius_ curse, or something equally malicious, in order to hide the secret that he'd used Dark Magic.

With the declining birth rates, though... wizarding society was liable to forgive _anything,_ if a wizarding child had been conceived as a result, and her attacker would know that. If she wasn't careful, she could end up wedded to her rapist, forced to take care of the child of the union.

Though, Hermione mused, she'd be more likely to kill her rapist than willingly subject herself to such a barbarism. But she was liable to get hurt, and Hermione preferred not to risk her well-being if it wasn't necessary.

Hence, the unfortunate “going out”s.

“Hermione!”

Hermione looked over to see Roger Davies coming towards her, holding two drinks in his hand. She mentally sighed and prepared herself.

“How about a drink, Hermione?” He grinned, extending one towards her. “I haven't seen you since school!”

“It's certainly been a while,” Hermione agreed, accepting the glass from him. “What have you been up to?”

“Not much, not much,” Roger Davies said, waving her question off. “Bit of this, bit of that. What about you?”

She smiled at him. It wasn't a happy smile.

“Unspeakable, Roger,” she said, flashing her teeth. “Sorry.”

“Oh, right,” Roger said, unsettled. “You work in the Department of Mysteries, don't you. They recruited you and someone else. One from my house, I think. Anton, was it?”

“Anthony,” Hermione corrected him. “Anthony Goldstein.”

“Right.” He paused. “He was brilliant. You have to be brilliant to get in there, right?” he asked, bolstered. “You must be a really powerful witch.”

He was painfully obvious, and Hermione found she wouldn't feel the least bit bad when he when he was arrested.

“I suppose I am,” she said. She lowered her eyes, feigning modesty, and used the chance to examine the runes floating above her drink.

A cacophony of colors greeted her. An acid green rune warned that the drink wasn't what it seemed to be. A red one indicated that there was a Compliance Potion. A blue one told her there was a Forgetfulness Potion added. Several yellow and purple ones strongly cautioned her against drinking, informing her that if she did, she'd be out like a light for hours, and would wake with no memory of what had occurred after she'd consumed the drink.

Briefly contemplating the grouping of runes, Hermione subtly moved her hand, casting one of her newer wards on herself and combining it with a spell. 

“What is this?” Hermione asked Roger, raising her hand to indicate her glass.

Roger grinned at her.

“Gin and tonic.”

Hermione downed the drink in one gulp.

~

When she awoke the next morning, Hermione was annoyed at the results.

She had cast a Monitoring Ward, a new creation, and linked it to a disembodied pair of eyes she'd conjured to float invisibly around her. When she viewed the eyes' report of what had happened, Roger had taken her to a room above the Leaky Cauldron, disrobed her, mussed the sheets, and left, turning the lights out behind him.

After him, the door had opened no less than six times, and each time, the eyes had only caught vague shapes of silhouetted figures in the doorway as they entered.

Hermione could have cursed herself, so annoyed she was with herself. How could she forget to charm the eyes with night vision?

Banishing the eyes, Hermione checked her other wards. None of her late-night visitors one had so much as touched her in a lustful fashion. It seemed that each man had come in, ensured that she was out of it enough to have had sex with him, and left.

She sighed.

The previous times she'd gone out, she'd cast powerful protective enchantments on herself ensuring that no one would have sex with her. They were powerful enchantments, inextricably linked to her magic, and no one except herself would be able to remove them. They were complex enchantments, too, ensuring that a Drunk or Drugged Hermione also wouldn't be able to take them down. 

This weekend, Hermione had been feeling vindictive, aggravated by the continual interruptions and hassle the pregnancies provided. She'd gone to the trouble to procure a RapeX female condom and only worn that instead of her protective enchantments. The RapeX was a Muggle device that embedded incredibly painful teeth-like barbs in a rapist's penis that could only be removed surgically. She'd got it just in case someone had tried to take advantage of her, so even knocked out, she could have her revenge, but no one had so much as attempted to touch her erotically.

She almost felt insulted.

~c~

“Good morning, Anthony,”

Anthony glanced up to see Hermione enter the research office, carrying her bag and coat in hand. Her eyes were sharp, her hair was tied back severely, and she was wearing black robes, instead of her usual jewel-tones ones.

“Good morning,” he said cautiously. “You look like you're ready for war.”

“I conceived seven times over the weekend,” she informed him. “I'm going to speak to the Minister.”

Anthony's eyes widened.

“Maybe I should come with you,” he said, standing.

Hermione scoffed.

“I think I can handle myself against one incompetent bureaucrat,” she huffed.

Anthony smirked.

“Not for your safety,” he told her. “For his.”

Hermione felt flattered despite herself, and she allowed him to follow her down the hall.

~

“Minister.”

“Unspeakable Granger. Hello.”

Scrimgeour looked distinctly uncomfortable at Hermione's entrance, and Anthony couldn't blame him. The Minister turned to him and nodded as well. “Unspeakable Goldstein. So nice to see you.”

Anthony grinned. “A pleasure.”

“You need to make an announcement to the press that there will not be a Fertility Tax Mandate,” Hermione informed him frostily, “and you need to do so immediately.”

Scrimgeour stared at her. Anthony almost felt bad for him, knowing how thoroughly he was about to be trounced. 

“How did you-? That's supposed to be confidential information,” he blustered. “And who are you-”

“The rumors of such a mandate have directly led to a dramatic rise in Dark Magic,” Hermione said. “Wizards are forcibly impregnating witches against their will without so much as touching them.”

The Minister blanched.

“Such pregnancies are cursed with Dark Magic and will inevitably lead to tragedy,” she continued. “You cannot allow this to continue.”

Scrimgeour looked like he was about to be sick.

“Yes, yes, I'll make the announcement at once,” he said, flustered. He reached for a pen. “Now, even. Immediately. But how did they learn such a spell-? And how else will we fix the Baby Bust?”

“I've no idea how masses of your constituents managed to learn a very old, very Dark piece of magic.” She fixed him with a sharp look. “I suggest you ask your Aurors.”

Scrimgeour cowered in his chair.

“As for the latter, I suggest you publish this.” Hermione tossed a thick file onto his desk. “These are the results of a genetic study the Department of Mysteries has been conducting. The results indicate that the lack of fertility and increase in miscarriages is caused by historical inbreeding among the Purebloods. Suggest a law banning marriages between Houses that have married within the past 200 years, and contact the International Bureau of Magical Cooperation. France and Italy are having similar problems, and they'd be more than willing help set up an international portkey dating agency.”

Scrimgeour stared at her, and Anthony suppressed the urge to laugh.

“Now that I've solved all your problems, I'll leave you to make that announcement,” Hermione said, turning to go. “And Minister?”

Scrimgeour flinched.

“Next time, just ask us before you do something that mucks everything up.”

She marched out of his office, her head held high, and Anthony followed after her, sniggering quietly into his hands.

“I think he wet himself,” he offered.

“I didn't even curse him for his unbelievable idiocy,” she said, arching an eyebrow. “Aren't you proud of me?”

“Always,” Anthony said, smirking. “That report – where'd you get it? You weren't working on any such study on Friday.”

“I had a long weekend,” Hermione said, shrugging. She paused. “And I may have borrowed a Time-Turner. For cross-disciplinary warding experiments only, you understand.”

Anthony grinned.

“Of course.”

Hermione could do anything, he mused. If she needed to, she would physically impose her will on the world and make it stop turning.

He smiled to himself, watching her walk away.

It was at times like this that he thought he loved her the most.

~

Despite the Minister's announcement, the pregnancies kept occurring.

To be fair, the Minister had been in a cold sweat and stammered through the entire thing. He hadn't exactly appeared confident or reassuring in front of the public, and if Hermione had been on the other side of the podium, she wasn't sure that she'd have believed him, either.

Even more, Hermione suspected that the number of her pregnancies was even higher than she thought, after waking late one night to see a rune dissipating. She could have lost countless conceptions while sleeping, only aware of the ones she saw when she woke. There was nothing she could do about it, however, and the constant conceptions that she caught were keeping her occupied enough.

Hermione now had nineteen little glowing green vials sitting in a row on her desk. She added today's to the collection, now, making twenty.

Twenty zygotes, all in stasis, standing in a row.

She looked at them for a long time, wondering what she should do with them all.

An idea sparked, and Hermione went to the Floo. For the first time since she'd gotten her job, Hermione called in to request a day off.

~c~

The pregnancies were getting ridiculous. Determined to ferret out each and every man interested in her, Hermione had dressed to the nines for the annual Ministry Victory Ball for the sole purpose of constructing a completed suspect list.

Every single male that talked to her, she would add as a suspect. She doubted that someone would attempt to seduce her tonight, as her absence would be noticed during such a high-profile event, but it was likely that each wizard would attempt to talk to her and flirt a bit to increase them in her regard.

Hermione had approached the prospect of getting ready for the ball with an intense, single-minded focus. If she was going to look good for this ball, she would not just look _good._ She would look the _best._

She had obtained an Elie Saab couture gown that would not be made for several seasons from an alternate timeline. The gown came had a cloak attached at the neck, ensuring it would work as formal wizarding attire, and with a spell, she'd changed the color to an emerald green. She'd paired the dress with diamond chandelier earrings and a diamond bracelet she'd been given by the goblins in return for a favor, and she'd portkeyed all the way to Hollywood to have a professional stylist do her hair and makeup.

The end result? She looked stunning. Absolutely breathtaking, Hermione had told herself, standing in front of a full-length mirror. Everyone would look twice, even the women. Satisfied that she had done well, Hermione had Apparated to the party.

She'd arrived early, as she intended, all the better to people-watch as the guests entered.

She hung around Kingsley Shacklebolt and Rufus Scrimgouer for a while. She'd told Kingsley of the Minister's ill-intended plans, and they held a loud conversation about what a spectacularly bad idea such a mandate would have been while the Minister's ears got redder and redder.

Eventually, the Minister tottered off to go and greet the French Minister of Magic, and now, Hermione was drifting about the room, lightly holding a glass of champagne. More people were arriving, now, her assailants among them.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione prepared herself to socialize.

“ _Hermione?_ Is that you? You look stunning.”

Hermione turned, expecting one of her devious suitors to be waiting, only to stop and stare. She did a double-take.

“... _Anthony?_ ”

It was Anthony, but he looked completely different. He wasn't wearing stained, shapeless robes for once – he was in a well-fitting, tailored Muggle suit. The dark charcoal color set off his dark eyes, which were sparkling, and his hair, which he'd gotten cut and styled. Hermione silently drank in the sight.

She was used to cute Anthony, the handsome, boyish Anthony that teased her at work who she teased back. The Anthony that ran a hand through his hair when he was thinking hard, always had ink-stained hands and ears, and was so busy he forgot to do his laundry. Cute Anthony was safe – he was cute, but busy and distracted, and safe to admire from a distance and wonder what his lips might feel like during long meetings at work.

This Anthony was _hot._

Hermione hadn't realized he'd been so toned underneath his robes. She'd figured he'd be lanky and somewhat thin – with how he was always forgetting to do his laundry, she'd thought he'd be just as likely to forget to eat. And his suit was tailored and hemmed _perfectly_ – she could see just how defined his arms and chest were.

An idle wondering of if his middle was as toned as the rest of him floated through her mind, instantly conjuring up an image of him in nothing but black silk boxers, and Hermione jerked sharply, forcing herself to take a deep breath.

“Anthony,” she said, forcefully pushing down her libido. “I didn't realize you'd be here. I thought you had an experiment to do?”

It took him a minute to respond, and Hermione realized that he was still looking at her, drinking her in appreciatively. She flushed and shivered slightly, but she felt pleased.

“I do,” Anthony said finally, dragging his eyes back up to meet hers. “It's a behavioral experiment, though, and I opted to use the Victory Ball as my testing grounds.”

“A behavioral experiment? Are you testing the-”

He pressed a thumb to her lips, and Hermione fell silent, caught off-guard. She looked up at him, and his large, dark eyes met hers. 

“You look stunning, Hermione,” Anthony said, his voice husky and rich. Hermione shivered. “You're the most beautiful witch here.”

Hermione smiled. “I'm not sure about that, but thank you,” she said, pleased. “You look very handsome yourself.”

“You are,” Anthony said, ignoring her compliment. He took a step towards her, his eyes oddly intense. “Look around, Hermione. You're the best dressed here. Out of everyone, you look the best.”

Blinking, Hermione glanced around the room. The other witches looked good, too. Lavender was resplendent in silky robes of lilac, and Luna Lovegood looked great in her deep blue dress. Ginny had worn a golden sequined gown, and though the effect was vaguely Muggle celebrity diva-ish and rather intimidating, no one could deny she looked fabulous. But no one seemed quite perfect, she realized. Lavender's shoes didn't match, Luna's hair was in riots, Ginny's attire was just a bit too much...

Gradually, a pleased smile grew on her face. She'd succeeded in her plan.

She didn't just look _great_.

She looked _the best_.

She turned and gave Anthony a brilliant smile.

“You're right,” she said impishly. “I do.”

Anthony laughed, his voice rich and dark, and Hermione shivered.

“Would you like to dance?” he asked, offering her a hand. “I know you love a waltz.”

“Oh, I'd love to, but-”

Ron was coming in the room and was heading towards her, and Hermione could see Blaise Zabini and Ernie MacMillan winding their way through the guests in her direction from the other side of the room. She needed to talk to them all, to see who would have wanted to get her pregnant.

She glanced around at them all and suppressed a shudder. Suddenly, she didn't want to talk to any of them at all.

“I'd love to,” she said decisively, taking Anthony's hand.

Bother the stupid boys playing with Dark Magic. She'd talk to them all later, if she felt like it.

Anthony led her to the dance floor and settled a hand on the small of her back. Hermione put a hand on his shoulders, and, clasping the other one, Anthony led them in the dance.

Hermione had known the waltz for years, since she was nearly fourteen and her parents had taken her to ballroom dancing lessons. It was easy enough, with a good partner to lead you, and a good choice for conversing with your partner.

Anthony was excellent at leading, and Hermione was happy to tell him so.

“Thank you,” Anthony said, smiling at her. “It's a pleasure to have such a skilled dancer as yourself on my arm.”

Hermione blushed and thanked him, before taking the chance to scan the room.

“There are lots of angry wizards looking at us,” Hermione observed, catching many of the resentful glares.

“They're all jealous of me,” Anthony said, his eyes sparkling. “They all wanted to dance with you.”

Hermione laughed.

“I doubt half of them even know how to dance,” she said. “They probably just want to chat me up.”

“You suspect they're the ones who have done the _Infans Initium_ spell?” he asked. “It would make sense, I suppose. They'd want you to hold them in high regard.”

He dipped her, and Hermione felt her heart flutter as her eyes locked with his.

“I'm hoping this pregnancy debacle ends soon,” she admitted. “This isn't the type of puzzle I enjoy solving so much.”

Anthony laughed.

“It's been a little over a month since it started, yes?” he asked. “I suspect you'll be able to figure it all out soon enough.”

Hermione looked at him curiously as they twirled around the ballroom.

“You think so?” she questioned. “How do you figure?”

Anthony grinned, and Hermione felt her knees go week.

“It only takes a month for a witch to realize she's pregnant, when she's missed her period,” Anthony said, twirling her around. “All you have to do is come to the next society event with a fake belly and looking grave, and they'll be falling all over themselves to take responsibility for the accidental infant.”

“A four-week pregnancy wouldn't be showing yet, though.”

“How many of those idiots do you think know that?”

Hermione laughed, and Anthony twirled her again as the song came to an end.

A sultry Latin beat started, and Anthony's dark eyes met hers.

“Do you tango?” 

Hermione felt a thrill.

“In this dress?” she asked, and Anthony laughed.

“Do you want to try?” His tone was low and teasing, and Hermione felt her body warm in response.

“I'd love to.”

She leaned down, casting a temporary transfiguration on her gown, eliminating the train and adding a long slit that came up on to the top of her thigh. She flicked her hips once, testing it, and was satisfied when Anthony eyes were drawn to the slip of skin.

“Okay.”

He took her in his arms, pressing their chests together closely, and they began to dance.

The tango wasn't an easy dance, and Hermione had been mortified learning it. It had been so awkward to be so closely pressed to the instructor, and rather embarrassing, and she'd been glad when they'd finally finished and moved on to the next dance. Now, though, it was thrilling to be so close to him, to be so close to _Anthony_ , who she'd fancied since _forever._

He was _excellent_ at dancing, too. Their hips flicked and twisted in perfect synergy, her long strip of leg flashed as she kicked and twirled about. His eyes were following her appreciatively, taking in her long form, and Hermione couldn't stop looking at him either, her mouth dry at the feel of his thighs encased in his trousers warm and firm next to hers.

When the tango finally came to an end, Hermione was sweating slightly, short of breath, and very, very aroused.

Anthony led her to a bench and vanished to get drinks. Hermione fanned herself, trying to catch her breath, wondering if Anthony would want to dance again.

“Hermione? Wow, you look great!”

Hermione turned to see Michael Corner sitting down next to her, looking particularly unappealing in shiny black robes that were decidedly too short.

“I haven't seen you since we danced at the Leaky,” he said, offering her a drink. He grinned. “What a night that was, wasn't it?”

Hermione didn't remember seeing Michael at the Leaky Cauldron, and she certainly didn't remember dancing with him. Her brain helpfully added his name to her internal “definitely guilty” list.

Suddenly, Hermione was sick of it. She was sick of dealing with unwanted pregnancies every morning, and she was sick of constantly having to suspect ulterior motives of everyone male who so much as approached her. She was sick of the constant tax on her mind and her body, as well as her magic. She was sick of dealing with the ill-thought actions of others, and she was sick of allowing herself to get so sick.

Something in her mind snapping, Hermione turned to face Michael head-on.

“You know, Michael-”

“Hermione.”

Anthony's deep voice carried a note of warning, and Hermione took a deep breath to collect herself. She steadied herself, her mind rioting against her, her tongue longing to lash out at Corner.

“I've got your water. Croaker needs to see us, too – he's right over there. Oh, sorry Corner, didn't see you. Maybe you can catch up with Hermione later?”

He took her elbow, and Hermione felt herself being led away from the bench she'd been resting on. With each step away from Michael Corner, Hermione felt her anger gradually diminishing, until she was able to look around without seeing red clouding her eyes.

She looked up at Anthony. He offered her the water glass silently, and Hermione took it.

The top of it remained blissfully clear, perfectly empty of any threats, warnings, or additions. It was water, pure water, and Hermione downed it with a greedy gulp.

“Thanks,” she said finally, setting the glass aside on a nearby table. She looked up at him again, this time, with gratitude in her eyes. “Thanks. I think I was about to curse him. Or maybe just tear him a new one in front of everyone.”

“I almost wish I didn't stop you,” Anthony said, his dark eyes holding hers. “He deserves it. They all do.”

“It's almost done.” Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath, before letting out a sigh. “I don't think I can deal with them anymore tonight, though. I thought I could – that was my whole plan in coming tonight, really – but I just _can't,_ somehow _._ I should leave-”

Anthony's hand caught her wrist, and Hermione eyes flew up to his.

“Don't.” His eyes were dark, clouded with hidden emotion. “Stay.”

His voice was low and layered, and Hermione wondered at the timbre of it. It almost sounded like he was pleading. Or was that just wishful thinking?

“Don't worry about them,” he murmured. “Just stay with me the whole night, and I'll fend them off. You can still have fun. I promise I'll take care of them all for you. They won't bother you tonight.”

His eyes were still boring into hers, unblinking, and Hermione felt her desire begin to return.

“Okay,” she murmured, and Anthony swept her off into another dance.

~

Hermione was swaying gently in Anthony's arms, her own arms wrapped around him firmly.

Anthony, good to his word, had fended off every other male at the Ball by dancing with her each and every dance. They'd danced the samba, the foxtrot, swing, the twist, the rumba, a galliard, and a spectacular assortment of others.

Hermione loved it.

Combined with the challenge of keeping up with him was the pleasure she took from being with him, being the girl dancing on his arm. She felt warm and giddy dancing with him, and pretty and feminine like she never had before. She felt like a professional ballroom dancer as they twirled about, one who had known her partner for years. She danced with him all night, and his attention never wavered from her. He knew just how to lead her, when to swing her out and when to do a twirl. Their synchronicity was incredible, and Hermione wondered more than once if they were reading each others' minds.

He'd kept her entertained, too. He'd completely butchered the dance to a Muggle Song, Cotton-Eyed Joe, and Hermione had laughingly taught him the proper moves. He'd wowed her with an impressive set of fluid moves to an electronica song that had come on, and she'd stared on in amazement and no little amount of lust as he'd squatted down low, kicking out his legs to a Russian folk song, his pants pulling tight across his butt.

Hermione had done her best to keep up and entertain him as well. She'd taught him how to dougie, which had been a riot, and showed off her best pirouettes when a Tchaikovsky piece had played. She'd even danced the Cordax, when the evening had wound down and most of the guests had left. Anthony's eyes had remained glued to her the entire time, and Hermione had shivered at his attention, wondering if he knew the history and meaning of the dance.

Now, though, the band was looking ragged and worn down, and they were playing a slow song as the last of the evening, and Hermione content to simply sway.

Safe in Anthony's arms, Hermione glanced around. The Minister was still present, sitting on his chair, looking exhausted and drunk. Kingsley was still present, dancing with Tonks, and Harry and Ginny were in the far corner, dancing together quietly, wrapped up in each others' eyes.

Her last potential 'suitor' was Ron, and even as she glanced at him, he threw his glass to the ground and stormed off.

Hermione heard him Disapparate with a loud 'crack', and she turned to Anthony, who was grinning.

“That's the last of them,” he said, triumphant. “Now it's just you and me left.”

Hermione laughed. “They'll all be jealous of you now,” she teased. “After the way you've danced with me all night, they'll think we've started dating, and they'll worry that they've lost any chance they once had.”

Anthony scoffed. “As if they ever held a chance with you,” he said dismissively. He looked down at her, his eyes warm. “You're too good for the lot of them combined.”

Hermione colored slightly. They continued to sway in place, Hermione's head resting lightly on his chest.

“What was your experiment?” Hermione asked finally, pulling back to look up at him once more. “You mentioned it yesterday at work, and then again today. You said you were going to do it at the ball, but you've only left me once. Did you get a chance to do it?”

Anthony looked at her for a long moment, before he began to laugh.

“I did, actually,” he said, running a hand through his hair ruefully. Hermione welcomed the gesture – it was familiar, a quirk of the Anthony she was accustomed too, and it reassured her somehow. This Anthony was so confident, so powerful and overwhelmingly masculine that Hermione had felt quite out of her league.

“And? What was it?”

Anthony's lips quirked.

“It was a test of how attire can affect one's behavior and demeanor,” he said, spinning her out. “I'd read something in the paper of how the proper outfit can increase one's confidence and sense of self, and I opted to test it. I'm sure you noticed the Muggle suit.”

Had she _ever_.

“It was a test of self,” Anthony continued. “Some people report feeling more self-assured and powerful when wearing suits. Some men even refer to their favorite as a 'power suit'. I wanted to try to see if wearing one changed how I acted and felt.”

Hermione tilted her head curiously. “Did it?”

Anthony laughed, and ran a hand through his hair again. “In a way.”

“How?”

“Well, at first, I felt rather silly,” Anthony admitted, dipping her. “Here I was, the only man who showed up in Muggle attire at a Wizarding Ball, and I felt awkward and out of place. I knew I looked good enough – I'd seen in the mirror – but I didn't seem to really stand out the way some of the other blokes did.”

He paused, and his eyes locked with hers. “And then I saw you.”

Hermione's heart stilled.

“You were stunning, of course. You always are, but in this gown... you looked exceptionally breathtaking, Hermione, and you still do. I couldn't help but notice. But what most caught my attention was the way you were looking at me.”

Hermione froze, and Anthony laughed quietly, gently guiding her as they spun slowly around.

“The way you looked at me, Hermione... you looked like you wanted to eat me alive. I could practically feel your eyes trailing down me, leaving fire in their wake. You looked entranced by me, and suddenly, I felt like the most powerful guy around.”

“You asked me something about my experiment, trying to get a hold of yourself, and I barely heard you – I couldn't stop staring at you. It was incredible, that you, that someone as gorgeous and as unbelievably brilliant and beautiful as you could even begin to want me.” His eyes held hers, smoldering, and Hermione couldn't look away. “In that instant, the experiment, which I'd been certain would be doomed to failure, suddenly became a resounding success.”

“I'd never have had the confidence to ask you to dance, before,” Anthony admitted. “But suddenly, I did. You gave it to me. And I'd _never_ have been able to dance the tango if I didn't know that you wanted to. As much as I knew I desired you, Hermione, as much as I admired you in that dress, I knew that you were right there with me, desiring me right back. And that, Hermione? That gave me the courage and confidence I've never had before.”

His voice was a low caress, and Hermione shivered under the weight of his gaze. She felt exposed, in his arms, with his eyes looking into hers. She hadn't realized she'd been so obvious with her crush, that he'd been able to know how much she liked him, how much she longed to invite him back to hers.

She shuddered at the thought, arousal pooling between her legs, and Anthony's eyes flared with heat in response, and Hermione felt her knees go weak. She looked away, her face flaming, and she could feel Anthony chuckle, the low laugh reverberating through his chest.

“I've never had the courage to truly kiss you, either, before, despite wanting to for years.” He took her chin in hand and turned her face to face him directly, his eyes searching hers. “I'm going to now, though, if you let me, Hermione.” His eyes burned. “Though I might not be able to stop.”

He lowered his lips slowly, hesitating, and Hermione caught her breath, captured as the moment stretched between them

And then finally, _finally,_ he was kissing her, and it was like nothing Hermione had ever felt before.

Heat surged through her body like touching kindling to fire, and she kissed Anthony back instinctively, intensely, passionately, as if she'd been waiting her entire life to do so. It wasn't soft or sweet or controlled at all, like Hermione had thought it would be with Anthony; it was wild, primal, and arousing, sending a feeling of liquid heat coursing through her veins to pool around her middle.

Anthony gripped her hair, tilting her head back slightly and plundering her mouth forcefully, and Hermione did her best to respond, swept up in the hurricane of feelings that was _Anthony –_ Anthony, holding her, Anthony, weaving his hands through her hair, Anthony, sucking on her bottom lip and wrestling her tongue...

His kissing grew more insistent and demanding as their tongues battled for control. Anthony dragged his hands along her shoulders and down to hold her hips flush with his, and Hermione gasped into his mouth at the feel of his erection pressing against her center. In turn, she raked a hand through his hair and bit his tongue lightly, eliciting a low growl, and then they were kissing even harder, vehemently, neither wanting to part from the other as something primal took control of them both.

And then Anthony pulled back, nearly sending Hermione reeling with the sudden loss. She looked up at Anthony dazedly, wondering why he'd stopped kissing her.

Anthony looked back down at her heatedly, his gaze smoldering, his hair disheveled, looking like he wanted nothing more than to drag her off and have his wicked way with her.

Somehow, Hermione found her voice.

“...would you like to come over to mine for the night?”

For a terrified moment, Hermione thought he was going to laugh, but he only growled with lust and then he was kissing her again, passionately, and Hermione vaguely wondered which one of them would have the presence of mind to be able to Apparate the both of them home with splinching before things got too hot and heavy for public viewing.

He nuzzled her neck, suckling lightly, and Hermione let out a low, wanton moan, and she writhed against his thigh.

The one with the presence of mind to Apparate them home?

There wasn't a chance in Hell that it would be her.

~c~

The next morning had been slightly awkward, with Hermione covering her love-bitten body with a sheet and Anthony red as an apple, both worrying that the other had sudden regrets.

Then Hermione had turned to ask Anthony if he wanted breakfast, and suddenly they were kissing again, and then so much more, and then it was clear that neither of them had the least regret for what had transpired between them the previous night, and several times again that morning, and by the time Hermione finally got out of bed to make breakfast, she couldn't stop herself from smiling.

She could hear Anthony in the shower as she made eggs, bacon, and tomatoes. He came down just as she finished cooking, and he smiled at her and pulled her into a damp hug.

“I missed you,” he said, kissing her, and she laughed.

“I was only gone for minutes!”

“I missed you anyway,” he said simply, and Hermione smiled, and they both tucked in.

Over breakfast, the conversation gradually turned to Hermione's pregnancy issue.

“I'm sick to death of it all,” Hermione said, stabbing her eggs with a vengeance. “I'm not putting up with it anymore. They can all go to hell, the lot of them.”

Anthony chewed thoughtfully, slowly.

“We could always volunteer for the ley-line checks next week,” Anthony suggested. “Croaker and Nubbins usually go, but they've been complaining about getting too old to trek all over the globe to check the fluctuations in magic.”

Hermione blinked. “The ley-line checks? That's that month-long business trip to the magical centers, right?”

Anthony nodded, taking another bite of bacon. “It won't be so bad. We'd have to measure the magical flux, of course, but in the process, we'd get to see Stonehenge, and the Mayan Ruins, and the Forbidden City...”

Hermione began to laugh.

“If I didn't know better, Anthony,” she said, pointing at him with her fork, “I'd think you were suggesting a romantic getaway for the both of us to go on.”

Anthony grinned at her.

“Of course not,” he said, opening his arms wide in his innocence. He paused, and then shot her a grin. “I'm not suggesting at all – I owled Robards first thing after my shower.”

Hermione squealed, and then she was on Anthony's lap, kissing him, pausing to tell him how he was such a thoughtful boyfriend, and _yes,_ he was her boyfriend now, and he didn't have a say in the matter, so he'd better get used to it, and breakfast had been lovely, but couldn't they go back upstairs now?

Anthony, in his hurry, Apparated them both back into bed with a _'crack'_ , conveniently leaving their clothes behind.

~

The pregnancies stopped. Hermione had let leak to Ginny that she's had “a bit of a shock” and was dealing with a personal issue, and that she'd volunteered for the Ministry business trip as a way to get away from everything to think things over. She'd worked with Anthony for ages, so no one thought twice about them going together, and Hermione was sure that Ginny would spread the word.

Her first day back at the Ministry, Hermione wore solemn, ashamed expression along with an oversized, light purple sweater that clearly displayed a tummy bump. She walked slowly through the Atrium, her ears craning as a torrent of whispers flurried around her at her changed appearance, and she idly wondered who would be first.

“Hermione!”

She turned.

It was Ron.

She sighed.

“Hello,” she greeted him, and he stared at her midsection in awe.

“I- I'd heard you'd gone away to think about things for a while,” he said finally, unable to tear his eyes from her bump. “Is- is this why?”

“Yes. I- I'm expecting.” Hermione lowered her eyes to feign shame. She gulped dramatically, and when she spoke again, she sounded like she was near tears. “And- I don't even remember who I was with-!”

“Aww, Hermione...” Ron was guiding her gently to an empty conference room off the side of the Atrium, and he closed the door behind them, so no one else would hear what he had to say. “Well, I- I don't know if you remember, but... at Dumbledore's birthday, we, well-”

He blushed, and Hermione cataloged the expression clearly in her mind.

“Are you telling me, Ron, that my child is yours?”

“Well, yes.” Ron nodded, his face red. “Though I thought you'd remember the night we spent together, 'Mione. Merlin, 'Mione, it was-”

“Don't, Ron.”

Having got the confession she needed, Hermione stepped back, folding her arms beneath her breasts. He looked at her, startled. “Just don't.”

“What are you talking about?” Ron gaped at her. “Don't blame me, Hermione – we were both drunk, and these things happen, you know, when both people forget the potion or the charm – I'm not just going to leave you stranded, you know – I'll marry you, and we can start a family together-”

“You know very well, Ron Weasley, that I have never once had sex with you,” Hermione said sharply, poking her finger into Ron's stomach, hard. She glared at him. “Don't even pretend that this was an accident. You did it deliberately.”

Ron paled. “What- what do you mean, Hermione, that I deliberately forgot the charm? I-”

“You used Dark Magic to knock me up.” She jabbed him sharply again, and he winced. “You used _Infans Initium,_ without me knowing! Admit it!”

Ron backed up, out of reach from her wrathful finger, eying her warily.

“I don't know how you know that,” he said finally. “But so what? The end result's the same. I'll still marry you and take care of you, and we can-”

“Form a lasting relationship built entirely on mistrust and lies?” Hermione said, her tone rising. “You're absolutely insane, Ronald, if you think I'll have the slightest thing to do with you ever again after this!”

Ron sputtered. “What? Look, I know that you didn't want kids so soon, but you can't just not let ours have a father-”

“I'm not even _pregnant_ , Ronald, you twat!”

In a fury, Hermione whipped off her fake pregnancy belly and thwacked Ron with it in the head.

“Ow!”

“You-” _THWACK_ “-absolute-” _THWACK_ “idiot! How could you-” _THWACK_ “-even _think-” THWACK_ “-that this was a good idea-” _THWACK **thwack**_

She continued beating him with the sympathy belly as she berated him, furious beyond words.

“Did you just think that because I'd gotten pregnant, I'd come running to you in tears, and we'd magically build a relationship around taking care of an unexpected child?” she demanded, her hands on her hips as she glared at him. “Did you?!”

“Well-” he cowered. “Kind of, yeah-”

_“MORON!”_

She hit him again, this time upside the head, and Ron went sprawling to the floor.

Strapping the belly back around herself, Hermione cast a backwards glance at Ron, who was still out cold, before opening the door and striding outside in a huff.

“There is a man in there,” Hermione said to the first Auror she found, gesturing to the door. “He committed Dark Magic and assaulted me. You need to arrest him immediately.”

“The charges, ma'am?”

She caught sight of Roger Davies coming towards her, looking intense, and she winced. “I'll be down to make a statement later,” she told the Auror, who nodded and quickly left.

Hermione sighed, watching as Roger came towards her, a giddy and slightly disbelieving expression on his face, as if he hadn't believed his plan had actually worked.

One down, nineteen to go.

~

“Would you believe,” Hermione said to Anthony much later, over a glass red wine, “that they hadn't the slightest idea how dark of a spell _Infans Initium_ is?”

“Seeing as they're all pillocks, not really,” Anthony said, swirling his glass. “But tell me: if they didn't get the spell from a dark grimoire, then where?” 

Hermione rolled her eyes. “ _Witch Weekly,_ of all places. They published a list of things to do to help conception, and they included that spell. Apparently, word got 'round that it worked after Bill and Fleur Weasley used it successfully, and a load of boys decided that they might as well try.” She took a long sip of her wine. “The magazine also encouraged trying again, if the spell didn't take the first time. Ron and a few of the others used it more than once – apparently, they thought they'd be able to tell if I was pregnant or not in so short an amount of time.”

Anthony laughed. “I'm surprised that they all assumed you weren't on the potion,” he said, smiling. “Surely they knew you'd have suspected something if you were suddenly pregnant when you ought not to be.”

Hermione shrugged. “I don't date much – too busy with work and all – and the potion's such a hassle to make,” she said, making a face. “As far as they knew, I only used the charm. Silly boys never even _considered_ that I might prefer Muggle methods to bleeding into a cauldron once a month.”

“I did,” Anthony said, grinning. “What are you on, the Pill? Depo Provera?”

“I have a Mirena IUD,” Hermione told him, tasting her wine. “No chance of babies for five years, practically guaranteed. And lighter, less painful periods, to boot.”

Anthony laughed.

“Well, you sure showed them,” he said magnanimously. “How many in total?”

“Sixteen men in all,” she said, rolling her eyes. “They all got six months in Azkaban and three years probation, along with hefty fines and restitution. They weren't charged with Dark Magic, as none of them really knew what sort of spell they were doing. The Wizengamot had no idea how to handle the case – in the end, they treated it much the same as a rape, though much less dramatic and with lesser consequences, seeing as I wasn't hurt and none of the intended children, as far as they know, actually survived.”

Anthony nodded appreciatively. “I know you put a lot of them in stasis,” he said. “What'd you do with them?”

“Gifted them to infertile Muggle couples who wanted to conceive,” she said promptly. “Fertility treatments are expensive, and I was happy to help make twenty new sets of proud, loving parents.”

Anthony raised an eyebrow. “So there'll be twenty kids with your DNA in the next wizarding generation?” he asked. “What if two of them mistakenly end up dating?”

“Already thought of it. There's one child per wizarding country, and none in the UK or Western Europe,” she said, catching his eye. “In case I want to have children of my own some day, of course.”

Anthony smiled. “Of course.”

Hermione sighed, swirling her glass.

“You know,” she said, “with all the hubbub and mayhem today, I'm rather tired, and it's only 9 o'clock.”

Anthony's eyes gleamed. “Maybe you should go to bed.”

Hermione looked at him, startled, before realizing exactly kind of 'go to bed' he meant.

“Perhaps I will,” she said airily, setting her wine aside. She tossed her hair and feigned a yawn. She paused at the bottom of her stairs, looking back at him expectantly.

“Care to join me, Anthony?”

With a wide grin and a few bounds, Anthony was with her and swept her up in his arms, twirling her around with a laugh and then giving her a long kiss.

“Always, Hermione.” He smiled at her, resting his forehead against hers.

“Always.”


End file.
